


so sang asclepius

by phalangine



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Kinkmeme, M/M, only a little smutty though, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8712772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: Thomas sucks hickeys onto James' thighs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for [this prompt](http://blacksails-kink.dreamwidth.org/2583.html?thread=5911#cmt5911) on the kinkmeme

James is not a virgin. Even before Miranda came to him in the carriage, he had fucked other women. But Thomas is the only man. James never would have thought of having sex with another man until he and Thomas became close. It still baffles him a little that this is something he does now. That Thomas does it, still more- and with James, of all men. He could have anyone he wished, yet he chose James.

Lying naked in the Hamiltons' bed, the linens ripped off, makes his head spin even as seeing Thomas' blond head resting on his hip makes his blood run hot. It's a heady combination, one James doubts will ever cease to make his heart race.

"Stop that."

Jerked from his thoughts, James looks down at Thomas, who is squinting sternly up at him now. "Stop what?"

Thomas sighs. "You're thinking again."

"Is that such a bad thing?" James asks around a laugh.

"It is when I want you here, with me. The world can have you later." What could be a grave reminder of the precariousness of their relationship is made a teasing, petulant reply by Thomas' outrageous pout. "I'll have to do something about this."

James lets his eyes fall closed as he lets out a groan. It's too soon. They've only just finished, and even the casual touch of Thomas' arm over James' oversensitive cock is maddening.

"I don't mean _that_ ," Thomas informs him, fondness warming his voice. "I had a different idea in mind, if you'll consent to it."

Thomas is a brilliant man. His ideals may be lofty, but he has a keen eye for the pragmatic approach. Given support, James is certain there is nothing Thomas can't accomplish- in bed or out of it. So he lies back and gestures for Thomas to do as he will.

Thomas' idea is not an intricate one, but it is strange. He kisses the jut of each of James' hipbones. Then he returns to the first and kisses it again, longer this time. Lingeringly. And back to the other hip he goes to repeat the act.

It tickles, a little, and James hears himself ask, "What are you doing down there?"

Thomas doesn't stop, doesn't even look up at James' face. He merely reaches one hand up and places it over James' heart. There, he taps his thumb against James' chest, just once, and James knows without asking that this is a request for trust.

As if he needs to be asked. Thomas will always have his trust. There is no one on earth James trusts more than Thomas Hamilton.

Thomas knows this, which is why James merely lays his hand over Thomas'. No words need to be exchanged. Here, as in the cold, harsh light of the world, they are of one mind. Their means may differ and their expectations fall short of each other, but always, they are of the same purpose.

James thinks of this as he lies back and lets Thomas get on with whatever it is he's doing.

Slowly, Thomas' trail of kisses leads further down. His lips trail over the jut of James' hips, down the curve of his pelvis. He opens James' legs farther, spreading Jane's' thighs wide and hooking them over his shoulders. He says nothing as he does it, scarcely looks up from his work as his eyes fall half closed and he turns his head to nuzzle at the inside of one of James' thighs.

It tickles, and James can't help but squirm, which gets a soft laugh from Thomas. He doesn't stop, though, simply moves along James' leg until he's almost at James' pelvis again.

"Here," he says, "is where we start."

Without waiting for a response, he twists a little and presses a kiss to the sensitive skin of James' inner thigh. This kiss isn't like the ones from earlier. It's a hard kiss, sealed with a deliberate pinch from Thomas' teeth that sends a wave of heat through James' body. His cock makes an admirable attempt at getting hard again, but he wasn't lying earlier. He's spent himself for the time being.

That doesn't bother Thomas. He moves over a little, and sucks another of his toothy kisses, sending yet another wave of lust through James.

"Thomas-"

"Relax." Thomas rubs his cheek over the inflamed skin as if to soothe it, though the act only makes the heat building in James' gut flare stronger. "I will take of everything, my love. You need only let me."

Swallowing hard, James nods and forces himself to relax against the bed. If he just lies here, if he stops thinking about Thomas and what he's doing...

Another biting kiss, this one to the inside of his other thigh, hits him hard and fast. The rough drag of Thomas' tongue over the sore spot that follows is maddening, and James finds himself clinging to Thomas' hand on his chest with both of his.

On and on, Thomas leaves mark after mark on James, humming to himself as he does as if he were doing something as mundane as penning a letter or riding in a carriage. As if he isn't driving James to insanity. As if the single-minded grip James has on his hand isn't crushing his fingers.

It's only a matter of time before James gets hard again. Then, and only then, does Thomas poke his head up, a smirk twisting the corners of his lips upwards, and ask, "Shall we go again?"

They do go again. James' greatest flaw is greed. He wants everything, has a bottomless pit in his gut that incessantly aches to _have_ , and of all things, what Thomas has given him cones closest to making the pang of want ease- yet the promise of contentment only makes James want him more. He will have the good Thomas promises him. He will.

 

***

 

"What are you looking at?"

James straightens quickly, an inexplicable pang of guilt twisting in his gut as he twists to look over his shoulder at Thomas.

"I'm not looking at anything," he says unconvincingly. The mirror only confirmed what James' body is saying anyway.

Thomas gestures him over to the bed, smiles when James does as he's bid. "You don't seem very happy," Thomas observes.

"I don't know what you mean," James hedges.

"Your legs, James. You seem unsettled by them."

Truth be told, James _is_ unsettled. It isn't the flashes of pain he feels when he pokes a finger at one of the bruises. Nor is it the thought of, for some insane reason, having to explain them.

"No one's ever done this to me before," he admits. "I don't quite know what to make of it, to be honest."

"You will never know the shame of that," Thomas says softly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed so they sit shoulder to shoulder. "I am not normally a jealous man, but you bring out another side of me."

"Isn't jealousy a bad thing?"

Thomas shrugs. "It can be, but this-" he puts a hand on James' leg, one of his long fingers reaching around to come to rest on a bruise, "-is not a bad thing. Perhaps it's selfish of me, but you are mine, James. For as long as you will have me, I will have you. Completely, unrelentingly, you shall be mine. And while you are away doing the king's business, I would have you remember this and not grow uncertain of me."

No one has ever felt the need to remind James of his place in their affections. Caught in the moment, he speaks that thought aloud.

"I'm not a virgin in need of coddling," he says the moment after, hackles rising at his own foolishness. "So don't make that face."

The hand on his leg squeezes softly. "Aren't you, though?" Thomas asks. "Is this not, by your own confession, your first relationship that held meaning?"

"Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing. I'm reminding you of what you first showed me: the world is broken place. What it values and what it damns are not to be trusted. You have more merit than half the lords I've met, James McGraw. I don't give a damn about your birth or your title. Remember that, would you?"

Here is the man from the salons: a revolutionary, a man who knows just what words to say to inflame a man's passions. Yet Thomas isn't looking to provoke him. That much is clear in the way he's leaning in and pressing a kiss to James' cheek. He doesn't want a discussion. He's said his piece, and now it's James' turn to take it in.

Almost absently, he touches the pads of his fingers to the bruises on his other leg. Little bolts of pain race up his thigh, but, like any bruise, that doesn't stop James from pressing harder.

He never wanted to belong to someone. But then, he didn't always know Thomas.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, letting his heart out of its cage. Thomas would care for it. As would Miranda, in her way.

And maybe, he thinks as he reaches for his breeches, maybe he likes the look of Thomas' marks on his skin.


End file.
